


Gears and Wires

by CiCi_Celestial



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Angst, Cyborg 2D - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Phase Three (Gorillaz)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-05 23:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12199734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CiCi_Celestial/pseuds/CiCi_Celestial
Summary: Murdoc had been left alone, had been abandoned. He was all alone on this Plastic Beach, this pink paradise. His personal plastic palace was empty aside from Cyborg. It wasn't a good thing, being left all alone with no one to drink with, snort coke with, smoke weed with. It was unbearably lonely. Especially with Murdoc’s fucked up mind. It would supply him things throughout the day, supply him images and recordings of regrets, regrets old and... very new. It would provide him faint hallucinations of blue hair, black eyes, various T-Shirts, the smell of butterscotch, an echo of that heavenly voice through a corridor.I might do more of this? idk. also Cyborg 2-D is not my idea.





	1. Melancholy Husk

Murdoc wiped the sweat pooling on his brow off with a quick flick of his wrist as he took a quick drink of rum from the bottle. He was nearly done. His greatest accomplishment, outclassing even Cyborg, was sitting on the workbench, nearly complete.  It was something that would fix his wrongdoings. Something that would bring his only angel back to him without tears, humiliation, physical strain, or a mix of all three. Something that would make him whole again, be able to continue his life normally, as if nothing happened.

He hadn't left this room in weeks. What could even be months, at this point. This workshop filled with smoke and the heavy stench of alcohol, oil, and metal was practically his room now. Murdoc never had the energy to leave the room, instead sleeping next to is creation on the bench and eating junk food Cyborg brought him. It was a small room, the walls a metallic blue lit by an aged, yellow lightbulb. Wires of every color were stretched from the ceiling into the robot on his bench.

Murdoc had been left alone, had been abandoned. He was all alone on this Plastic Beach, this pink paradise. His personal plastic palace was empty aside from Cyborg. It wasn't a good thing, being left all alone with no one to drink with, snort coke with, smoke weed with. It was unbearably lonely. Especially with Murdoc’s fucked up mind and psyche. It would supply him things throughout the day, supply him images and recordings of regrets, regrets old and... very new. It would provide him faint hallucinations of blue hair, black eyes, various T-Shirts, the smell of butterscotch, an echo of that heavenly voice through a corridor. And the most recent thing his mind supplied him was the Voice.

 _This is sick, you know._ The Voice in his head sneers. _This little thing you’re doing? It’s disgusting. You needed to fill a hole, so you built a bot to do it._  That was something that hadn't reared its ugly head in a long time. It was oddly similar to his own and his father's, but also similar to 2-D's. He had no idea how – Two had the voice of a demon, One had the voice of an angel. It's been there ever since... he left. Ever since he left. _Left? Hah. He's dead, dullard. He's dead all thanks to you. It'll never be normal again._ Murdoc shook his head. He was nearly finished, he didn't need to listen the Voice right now. _But you will anyway._ He just needed to screw some last parts in and turn it on. That was all he had to do. With a few more turns of the wrench, it was done. The machine on his workbench was complete. Murdoc laughed, nearly hysterical. He just had to turn it on. _He's gone, idiot. This won't work. He's dead, dead, dead! How many times do you need to hear it before it gets through your thick fucking skull?!_

Murdoc stared at the robot sitting on his workbench under the bright light bulb. It was one of those moments where Murdoc really had to pat himself on the back for his craftsmanship. It looked like him. It looked exactly like him! Pale skin, inky eyes, spiky blue hair, too long legs, long arms and pianist fingers. Murdoc had even spent weeks in his room, listening to their songs, listening to him, making a replica of his voice. It wasn't exact... but it had been close enough. He'd spent weeks perfecting the brain, making sure it would really be like 2-D, with his timid mannerisms and almost brainless nature. He even spent days upon end perfecting the crotch area.  It was perfect.

_He's dead, this is just a machine, you’re being so soddin’ SELFISH-_

He flipped the switch. Sparks flew from the robot, flitting every which way as the lights above him flickered on and off. The smell of burnt metal filled the air alongside dark gray smoke, making Murdoc instinctively retch and cough. The lifeless shell on the bench jolted, much like a dead man's involuntary twitch. It was repulsive to witness, if Murdoc was being honest. Much like reanimating a dead corpse, the stench was pungent, the spasming body was haunting, and the atmosphere was full of dread, morbid curiosity and a smidgen of hope. The body slowly gained actual movement, it's joints moving fluently as the sparks slowly died down and the smoke cleared. Sitting upright with it's back to Murdoc, the robot looked down at its hands, slowly curling its fingers into fists before uncurling them again. He turned to face Murdoc. His thoughts rampaged, heart beating frantically and unsurely as his mismatched orbs met those lifeless, abyssal eyes.

_Absolutely pathetic. You just made a machine in order to fill your sad, meaningless life with happiness you don't deserve._

I at least deserve a spot of happiness! The bloke I loved died!

 _No you don't, dullard. You were the one that killed him._ I didn't do it, it was the bloody whale!

_Yeah, the whale you trapped him with. It's all your fault._

It's not, I never meant for it to hap-

_Oh, sure. “It's all the whale's fault!” It's not like you yelled at him, abused him, made him feel useless. If he hadn't been swallowed by that whale he would have killed himself._

He wouldn’t.…

_No no no. You know that's true. You really think he could put up with you? That you two could be mates again after this whole thing blew over? You must be joking. After everything you've done to him-!_

“Murdoc?” An angel's soft hum interrupted his thoughts, stopped the Voice dead in it’s tracks. He breathed heavily, gasping for air as he stared at his creation's face. It’s head was tilted, brows furrowed, mouth twisted in worry. It made Murdoc's heart leap into his throat and his mouth snap shut with an audible “click.” “Murdoc? You alright?”

Murdoc shakily nodded, not trusting his voice. He was still staring wide-eyed at him, emotion overwhelming his mind and heart. It was him. His creation. It was alive. It was walking, talking, moving. It seemed like 2-D was there in front of him again, where he rightfully should be. It was a relief, a real, true blessing. _He's not! HE'S DEAD! Dead and decaying in the belly of a whale all thanks to you..._

The Voice drifted out of Murdoc’s head. With a shake of his head, Murdoc slowly approached the robot before engulfing its lanky limbs in a near-crushing hug. The robot seemed unsure of how to react, before it settled one of its large palms on the small of Murdoc's back and flung the other arm around Murdoc's shoulder. It pressed Murdoc close to its chest, resting its head on Murdoc's. It would normally be a comforting embrace, _A comforting embrace you'd wanted for so long, and will never get ever,_ but suddenly the machinery felt heavy and the limbs felt cold and unreal and _dead, dead like him, dead, DEAD-_

Murdoc felt a sting behind his eye and a sob try and escape from his throat. He forcefully pushed them down with a stifled choke. He didn’t need to break again. The tape and glue keeping his heart and psyche together wouldn’t hold. He'd cried enough when the singer had left him, after all. _When he died, you mean._ Yeah. When he died... Murdoc felt a small sniffle burst through his barrier. The robot held him tighter. It was all too much. The heavy feel of cold metal wrapped around him, the nose that seemed to be buried in his slick, oily hair, The faint, stale smell of butterscotch that still wafted from his old clothes. _Why the fuck did you give it his clothes? It's a robot. A pile of wires and cables and metal that can act like him. It doesn't deserve to wear his clothes. Nobody does._ I know. Murdoc buried his nose into the familiar T-Shirt that used to belong to the singer, inhaling. _Then why did you do that?_ I don't know. Exhale. _Well, it's comin' back to bite ya in the ass._ Inhale.

In the robot's grasp, Murdoc felt a shiver jump down his spine before inhaling shakily. The robot slowly pried Murdoc from it's form, looking at Murdoc with blank, inky eyes. Murdoc refused to stare back, refused to look into those eyes that enraptured him all those years ago, choosing to fix his gaze on the switch that had brought the robot to life. _But those aren't those eyes you love, now are they? They're gone. Gone all because of you and your possessiveness._ He was so close to shattering already. If he looked into those eyes again, he knew he would break into a million ugly pieces.

“Murdoc?” It called out, bringing the hand from Murdoc's back around to cup Murdoc's jaw softly. “Wha's wrong?” It gently moved Murdoc's face to the side, forcing Murdoc to look at it. Murdoc still looked to the side, away from the abyssal eyes he fell for.

 _You're dead and I'm a sad, pathetic man who couldn't live without you,_ the Voice hissed. He was still staring at the wall, but subconsciously leaned into the cold, hard touch of the robot as if it could grant him any true solace or comfort. He felt his mouth open, the reply tumbling out, holding back the toxic words of the Voice.

“...M'fine. Just tired, 's all.” He was exhausted, both emotionally and physically, but that wasn't the answer. He just didn't have the heart to tell this replica of 2-D that the person he's based off of is dead _, caught in his greatest fear all thanks to you._

“Oh.” The robot sounded relieved. Just like 2-D, it couldn't tell when there was something more going on behind the scenes. A lovable dimwit. “Do you want me to carry you to bed?” The robot offered such a thing as if it was no big deal. It wasn't, if Murdoc were to be honest. 2-D carried him to his room every once in a while, even before they'd been stuck on this so-called plastic paradise. He never allowed it much. Hell, he only really allowed it when he was drunk. But on the rare occasions he did allow it, it was fantastic. Being surrounded by the smell of butterscotch, being cradled by 2-D's arms without a care in the world... it was therapeutic. _Yep, and you'll never have it again-_

“Yes,” Murdoc blurted, voice cracking. He cleared his throat and closed his eyes before continuing with a small nod, “Yeah. I'd like that.”

The robot made a small noise of affirmation. The hand on Murdoc's jaw retreated as the robot slowly began to pick up Murdoc bridal-style. One lanky arm wrapped around his back, the other around his legs, before he was hoisted up into the cold, metallic chest of his creation. The robot walked autonomously toward the elevator, the pace creating a slow, steady soft swaying motion. Murdoc felt his eyelids gradually feel heavier and heavier. He should add something that resonates heat. That's probably a good idea, right?

_Of course not._

It was a rhetorical question.

_Doesn't matter._

Murdoc cuddled into the robot's cold embrace, pretending he could feel heat, pretending he could feel a thrumming heartbeat beneath the fake skin, pretending he could smell the fresh scent of butterscotch instead of the stale stench of musty smoke mixed sickeningly with the sweet candy. _Pretend all you want, dullard. This won't change reality._

I know.

_You're such a sick bastard._

I know.

_You ever gonna tell the 'bot what it is? It’s purpose? That it’s meant to fill a hole, meant to be a toy for you?_

No.

_Why not?_

It might leave me, too.

_Wow._

I know.

Murdoc hardly noticed as the robot walked into and out of the elevator, through the picturesque white hallways, opening the door to Murdoc's messy room. He was too busy arguing with the Voice, too busy trying to desperately win a losing battle, too busy seeing things he wished he could forget. The robot gently lay him down on his large bed before grabbing the sheets, blankets, and pillows that had likely been thrown off during a nightmare or night terror. Nothing new, of course. But now those nightmares were full of accusatory black eyes that stared at him from all directions, piercing his heart and mind with immense guilt. Sometimes, those nightmares allowed him to watch the whole spectacle- 2-D being swallowed, nearly drowned, digested in a large pink, fleshy prison full of revolting acid that ate him alive, watching as every part of the singer melts off, before all that's left is bone...

The robot's cold hands lifted up Murdoc's head gently before sliding a fluffed pillow under his head. Murdoc blinked, hazy vision slowly coming into focus. He watched the blue-haired robot grab an armful of blankets from the floor and start to lay them over Murdoc quietly, piling them on with care and precision. As if it were really him. As if he was still there, lofty spirit inhabiting the robot. The robot was soon done tucking Murdoc in, and started to leave, turning towards the door with a quiet “G’night, Muds.”

“Wait,” Murdoc croaked. The robot turned around, looking at him. Murdoc quickly glanced away again to avoid those eyes. “You can stay tonight.”

The robot visibly perked up, slowly walking over to Murdoc to crawl under the covers with him. It was holding its hands up, fingertips brushing against one another. An adorable nervous tic that Murdoc had to add to the robot. _It belongs to him and only him, how dare you give it to this thing!-_ It crawled into the bed daintily, as if trying not to bother Murdoc at all with its presence. Not like it could. As it made itself comfortable, Murdoc could feel his resolve straining. He wanted so desperately to look into those blackened orbs again, see the man he loved again.

_Pathetic._

He looked into those eyes, those familiar dents that belonged to the one and only Gorillaz frontman. The robot noticed this, and gave Murdoc a ear-splitting grin, eyes curling to accommodate for its large smile.

Murdoc felt himself shatter upon the sight.

There were no tears. No noises. Not even a punch was thrown. Murdoc didn't even move. But he felt his entire being break, the glass cracking with a horrible crash. Something just... fell apart. The thing Murdoc had tried so hard to never let snap, to never let burst, broke into a million, tiny pieces. And as he laid on the bed, the Voice supplied him something. Supplied him an accurate term of what he was. _Just a lovesick fool whose mind had finally fully snapped._

That was okay with him, he decided. _It’s sad, almost._ The robot snuggled close to him, cold limbs slowly being warmed by the blanket and Murdoc's own body heat. He was being spooned by the robot and even let his legs entangle under the covers with its long legs. He knew everything that was wrong with this, no matter how much he denied it. The Voice continuously fed him remarks, toxic remarks that told Murdoc what he already knew. Trying to break him even further. Murdoc didn't have the strength to care. As he snuggled into the robot, he managed to convince himself that it really was 2-D. That 2-D didn't die. That 2-D loved him back. That 2-D was as happy in Murdoc's arms as Murdoc was in 2-D's.

That night, a drunk, delusional man fell fast asleep in the arms of a robot, a machine, an automaton, pretending it was a human; pretending it was his lover that, unbeknownst to him, was miraculously still alive; pretending that everything was okay when his entire world had come crashing down around him; pretending that what was fake was real and what was real was fake.


	2. NOT A CHAPTER! (there is a mini preview tho?)

Holy. Crap.

I was not expecting such and overwhelming response to this little thing I wrote! Thank you guys so much, really! It means a lot! And i know you all are probably upset that this is an update, not a chapter, but I do have a little tidbit of news. So, uhhh.... I wrote this as a one-shot? but decided maybe I could write more if people really liked it? So, because of your response and want for more, I'll write more! It won't be all planned out, like most of my fics. Instead, this will be totally improv. Again, thank you!

As a reward for sitting through all that, how about an un-edited preview of maybe the next chapter which takes place before Chapter One?

 

The plucking of taught strings echoed through the room, quiet and lonely despite the biting nature of the instrument. The room was full, but empty. Full of familiar bass notes and chords that Murdoc could play without thinking. Empty of the keyboard that would lead the song forward and the otherworldly voice that would accompany. It was surreal, as if this world was merely a false copy where the main component was missing. Murdoc was used to this feeling by now. This abstract version of reality, where shape and form were missing.

 


	3. Waking Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has not yet been beta'd. I was just to excited to release it. >.>

When Murdoc slept, he would dream. His dreams were simple for a man such as him, and would often come in a variety of colors, of emotions, of circumstances that could never exist in the waking world. He would dream of comfortably unreal tones, of warm yellows, of soft baby blues, of ethereal whites. He would dream of drunken rages, of unparalleled disappointment, of fear felt so deep it shook bone marrow. He would dream of domesticity, of a simple life with the simplest man, of gapped smiles directed to him, for him, at him, of growing old alongside all his loved ones, especially the mop of slowly graying blue hair by his side. He could never recall those dreams in the morning, instead being bombarded with a horrible hangover that made his head thrum in pain. He could always catch wisps of them, see what he had seen in his unconscious state, but it was always shrouded in static, the sound muffled and the image aged.

 

This dream was different.

He was in 2-D's old room on Plastic Beach. Murdoc was trapped, standing still in the blue-tinted room where reality was altered. Black eyes were everywhere, eyes that judged, stared into Murdoc's very being and scrutinized every detail with terrifying precision. It was horrifying, Murdoc feeling naked and afraid in front of all these pairs of eyes who were crucifying him.

 

The most prominent pair were right in front of Murdoc, Glaring at him with such an intensity, an unusual intensity that made him shiver, tremble in place in inexplicable fear. The eyes were blank, no light being reflected to ease the strength of the stare. A pale colored pile of something rose from the ground below Murdoc, before morphing slowly into the lanky figure of 2-D, but his form was wrong, everything was broken, some of the material-  _ human skin _ , Murdoc realized- still falling off of the limbs into small chunks, much like a snake shedding its skin. The tone of the skin was wrong, oh so wrong, it was blue, as if something had stolen all the blood and life running through his veins. The hair grew from 2-D's head at an alarming rate, each individual strand elongating until it fell into place or fell off entirely. One of his arms, which looked as though it had been bent backwards, snapped off with a resounding  _ crack  _ before the pile of skin reformed, creating another twisted arm. His form was unsure, trembling, skin and hair and even a few limbs falling off him in clumps.

Murdoc wanted to look away, to throw up, to do something, but he was frozen, paralyzed in his place. The shambling form of 2-D slowly trudged forward, towards Murdoc in large, long strides. He was hunched over, mouth and lips nonexistent on the face, replaced by more shedding skin. As he approached Murdoc, he began to yell, the Voice erupting from him in an accusatory tone unlike any other;

 

_ “ALL YOUR FAULT ALL YOUR FAULT HE'S DEAD ALL YOUR FAULT” _

 

Murdoc was utterly still, couldn't move, even as 2-D reached him, close enough so Murdoc could feel pained, lopsided breaths escape 2-D and brush his face with the wretched, unmistakable smell of death; it was putrid, foul, the Voice continued to scream and the eyes continued to judge and 2-D continued to shed and grow;

 

_ “YOU LET THIS HAPPEN HE'S GONE HE'S DEAD ALL YOUR FAULT ALL YOUR FAULT” _

 

2-D reached out two broken, lanky arms towards Murdoc, his fingers disjointed and his fingernails jutting out in abnormal positions, one of the fingernails even falling off before growing again. The blank eyes bore into Murdoc's head, impossibly judgmental, while feminine eyelashes grew from his eyes and faint freckles dotted his cheeks like a paintbrush gently touching a canvas. Murdoc wanted so badly just to close his eyes. The husk of 2-D placed two broken, abnormally cold hands on Murdoc’s shoulders, gripping his shoulders roughly. He managed, shutting them so tight it almost physically hurt. He could still hear the Voice, could still smell the stench of death, could still feel the eyes all around ripping him to shreds. Before it was all interrupted, interrupted by an angel-

 

_ “Murdoc...?” _

 

“Stuart!”

 

Then, Murdoc woke up with a cry of his name, jolting upright, the dream still persisting in his vision. The pitch black, the face without the mouth, the blue hair and blue tint that covered the room that was no more. It didn't fade. Even after Murdoc felt a pulse of pain in his head, he could still see him, still hear the Voice. It was strange, unreal almost. As if reality had shifted, accommodating the nightmares much like a family would for a group of unruly houseguests. He feared for his life, for his sanity for a brief moment before he reached towards his bedside table for a bottle of rum. He took a long, slow drink of the bottle until it was nearly half empty. The burn was familiar, like an old friend – It helped him stay grounded in reality, letting him know his pain was real, but the visions weren't. He started it young and didn't plan to stop. At this point, it was a ritual in Murdoc's morning.

 

He sighed, bringing a hand to his eyes to block out the light. His head was still thrumming from the previous night’s drinking, and the bright morning sun shining through his window didn't help in the slightest. It was morning? He groaned. Murdoc was never a morning person, instead waking up in the early hours of the afternoon or evening. Today was the exception, he supposed. He could still hear the Voice, still taunting him beyond his unconscious. Murdoc wondered if he was simply still sleeping, still dreaming.

“Murdoc?” The angel said again, more sternly this time. Definitely dreaming, then. 

“What, faceache?” The response was automatic. He felt rage burble up in his chest, the fact that his nightmare dared to continue beyond his supposed awakening. His head snapped to the body next to him, eyebrows furrowed and teeth gritting. His face had gone lax, yet his eyes widened as soon as he looked at 2-D- er, the Robot.

 

It was supporting itself by its stick-like arms, back slanted yet straight. “You alright? You were tossin' and turnin' like crazy.” It looked concerned, cocking its head to the side. The morning sun made its hair shine much like a halo. Its eyes stared directly into Murdoc, eyebrows furrowed in concern. Murdoc slunk back into bed, bringing the heavy blanket over his shirtless chest and resting his head on the pillow again. He faced away from the Robot. He didn't need this, not today. Not ever.

 

“Don't worry bout me, mate,” Murdoc waved his hand in what he hoped to be a lax gesture, “I'm as right as rain.” A blank lie, but just like 2-D, the Robot didn't seem to notice. If it did, it didn't mention it. He heard the Robot slowly slink under the covers again.

 

He felt a pair of familiar, lanky arms wrap around his midsection. The temptation to snuggle into them was just about as overwhelming as the surprise at the sensation itself.

 

The arms were strangely warm, not warm in a natural way. Rather it felt like they were warmed from the outside, but if you were to reach into the bone, they'd be freezing. It was so wrong. But it was what Murdoc needed, he needed this so desperately, he just needed Stuart again.

 

_ Sweet Satan. You build a robot to fill the void in your heart, and yet you can't even look at it or talk to it. It's almost funny, how sad this is. You've completely broke. After everything you've gone through, after everything you've lost and gained, what ultimately breaks you is this pretty boy you picked up from the pavement. Pathetic, absolutely pathetic- _

 

_ “ _ I know, I know how sick this is, believe me, I know. But I need this.”Murdoc responded aloud, voice riddled with certainty. He wanted this. He needed this. He needed something, anything in his life to make him happy. So he could keep going. Even if what kept him going was fake, he'd still cling to it as if it were real.

 

_ No you don't, you fucking dolt. You need Stuart. You need Stuart, not this thing. And the worst part? He never loved you. He never could. No one can love you, ever, you're so abusive and horrible to everyone who thinks to get close to you. So you make a replica of him who will. _

 

“I know.” He knew the Voice was only a figment, only a piece of his brain, but his mouth opened to answer. He stared directly at the Robot. It's eyelids twitched, much like a flutter. It's arms seemed to wrap around Murdoc's midsection more. It was acting strangely human, yet Murdoc paid it no mind as Voice commented again, tone suddenly soft;

 

_ Then why the hell do you do it? Why do all this? Why make another stupid robot? _

 

A pregnant pause. Murdoc's eyes slid shut, and with a sigh, Murdoc replied;

 

“You know why.”

 

The Voice went completely silent. He stared at the sleeping form of the robot more, perfectly highlighted by the morning sun. Its hair was glowing, as if it were the sun itself, bringing light upon Murdoc's world. It appeared to be making small noises in it's sleep, squeaks and hums, but its chest never moved. The small, almost silent whir of its fans provided a calming yet inhuman sound. Its smile was painful for Murdoc to look at. He'd seen that smile many times, but each time it felt like a blessing, as if someone had come down from the clouds and allowed him a moment of peace where he could finally find solace in someone. When he could find solace in anything.

 

Murdoc put his head to the robot's chest, tucking it under its chin. He wrapped his own arms around its chest slowly, squeezing it close. The robot moved its arm, bringing its hand up to Murdoc's head before carding its slender fingers through Murdoc's slick hair. Its eyes were open, twin holes staring at him with a strange expression. Murdoc closed his own eyes, before breathing in the butterscotch that now faintly smelled of grease, oil, and metal.

 

It was so wrong. Yet, in the waking light of dawn, it was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! ...I meant for this to come out earlier! Forgive me! My inspiration to write is always so fickel and fleeting, it drives me crazy. ;3;  
> As always, thank you for reading! You guys make my day!
> 
> (Yes the preview wasn't used I apologize the ideas were scrapped entirely)


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